LITMIR.BIZ

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drink mineral water, but unfortunately no alcohol. I would have liked to taste the red wine.

      Richard's gaze rests uninhibitedly on me and his smile is dreamy. "I'm sure we can make it work for him."

      Ilona frowns sceptically. "I don't know if I can accept it."

      What on earth are they talking about? Work what for me?

      He smiles magnanimously at her. "What's the problem? If he's not a real man, he could be made a sissy maid. He will like it. So will I. And you'll get used to it too."

      What? I'm not a real man? And should I be made a sissy maid? I know photos of Sissy's from the Internet, and yes, as strange as they seem, they are also enchanting. But also worthy of imitation? I cannot really imagine that. But I couldn't imagine myself standing in front of a strange man in suspenders and serving him wine with a curtsy.

      Carelessly, she shrugs her shoulders. "If it's that important to you, then just go ahead."

      Shamelessly, he slides his hand under her knee-length black dress. "Have my secretary look for suitable clothing."

      Instead of fending off his hand, Ilona nestles cooing towards it. "The secretary? Does she know about such things?"

      "It would surprise me. You know how stiff and decent she is. But there's no task she can't handle."

      His hand has obviously reached its destination, because a pleasant sigh comes from Ilona’s red painted lips. "That's good for you," she breathes it and grabs him by the lap.

      The fact that I am watching them does not seem to bother them, just as you can't let a doll stop you from making love. I look at the TV where “Diner for One” is on. I have never seen it under such strange circumstances, of course not.

      When the film ends, the two leave each other and he whispers in her ear: "I want to see him with red lips. Would you be so kind?"

      Ilona is so nice. I have to fetch her shoulder bag from the hall, hand it over to her with a curtsy, for which I don't need any extra prompting, and sink to my knees before her, as commanded by the sign of her thumb. It feels strange, thick and greasy, as the pen slides over my lips. No one has ever done that to me before. The tip of my tongue involuntarily explores, and at the same time I notice something stirring down there.

      "Look, it turns him on," says Richard.

      Ilona puts the pen away again and twists her eyes. "Apparently, there's nothing weird that doesn't turn him on."

      I'm embarrassed that my cock is so big down there, but it can't be changed. I long for an item of clothing to cover it up, but it is only a dream, not a hope with a chance of realization.

      On television there is now a merry New Year's Eve celebration with weird music, not quite my taste, but that is not important. The sound does not come from the high-end system, but from the loudspeakers of the television, which I find somewhat surprising.

      Ilona seems to be having similar thoughts. She wants to know why he doesn't switch on the system, and Richard evasively mumbles something about peace of mind and that he hasn't really got used to the sound yet. Besides there are more important things. Again, his hand slides under her dress and again she nestles up to him. I quickly look away, because this closeness, which excludes me, is hard to bear ...

      Shortly before midnight I have to get a bottle of champagne from the fridge and bring long-stemmed glasses, but only two, not three.

      Knocking at the bottle top, Richard thinks of me with a lascivious look. "Let's see if he's any good."

      Ilona smiles pensive. "He's certainly good with a woman." She lowers her thumb and looks at me bossy. "Be kind to him."

      Oh. Let me get this straight. Her flat hand claps my left cheek. "Do it!"

      Seems I understood correctly. Before she can slap me again, I sink down on the fluffy carpet in front of Richard. Closely before my eyes I see the dark trousers, with a bulge at the height of my face.

      Ilona's voice sounds impatient. "What are you waiting for?"

      Do I have to get that thing out myself? Like I read it in a novel once, in which the protagonist felt deeply humiliated by this request? Rightly so, of course, because it's downright humiliating. But I must not provoke Ilona any further. And Renate did it, after all, without raising a ruckus. With a trembling heart I pull down the zipper, reach in, bring out his thing, which is not too big, but not too stiff, much smaller than the giant thing I once did fellatio on, with the tranny Felix, unbelievable. He smells of musk, dusted with perfume.

      "Be good to my sceptre," Richard says to me from above.

      What? Scepter? Is this guy crazy? - Well, I have to admit that word is not really inappropriate, and maybe not just in relation to me, considering he's the boss of a whole bunch of employees.

      A plop can be heard above, a startled "Oh", and wetness splashes on my head. A champagne shower? To celebrate the moment? I ignore it as best I can, bend my head forward, breathe little kisses on the twitching cock. Caressing it, I have no difficulty sucking it into my mouth. In fact, I can do that not only with Felix, but with another man as well. Without any disgust, I start sucking it.

      Murmuring can be heard upstairs, apparently directed at Ilona. "It's a pity you won't do such a thing."

      Her answer sounds contrite. "Someday I will. I will."

      Oh, I know that one. He can probably wait until the Fourth of July. But there's me. I never thought I'd be doing fellatio instead of her, of course not. The glasses clink. Hot and sticky sperm splashes into my mouth, sweet and sour. A lot of it comes and I have trouble choking it all down, but I manage it, I am quite used to it. Surely you can’t start a new year in a more exciting way. I docilely suck it out until not a drop is left and my head is pushed back. No hand comes down to put the cock away. That's probably my job too, just like in the novel. Maybe Richard read it and got his inspiration from it. It's not easy to stuff the scepter in his pants, because it's still swelling up there in all its glory as if there hadn't been a climax. He seems to have amazing steadfastness. But then I manage to stow it away, still chewing on its sticky remains, I quickly pull the zipper up so that it doesn't pop out again, feeling like a lion tamer.

      Still full of zest for action, Richard grabs Ilona's butt firmly and she nestles purring against his chest. The two want to be alone as soon as possible and I have to follow them upstairs. There they show me the guest room where I can sleep and the bathroom where a toothbrush, washcloths, and towels are ready for me. Fingering each other, they hurriedly retreat into the bedroom as if they can not lose a second. Abandoned, I get ready and then lie down in the lonely bed, naked and useless. Although I have brushed my teeth, I can still feel Richard's taste in my mouth.

      It's funny to have to give a man a blowjob on command, funny and also exciting. I wonder what those two are up to now. But that's not the right question. It has to be: I wonder how they're enjoying themselves. Vanilla sex or something else? But there are other, more important thoughts, that concern me: He wants to make a "sissy maid" out of me. I would like to know what exactly he means by this and whether his ideas correspond to mine. These are very stimulating pictures that arise before my inner eye. Fortunately, there is a box of cosmetic tissues on the bedside table, which I can use because there is a lot to wipe away...

      ***

      I spend the whole New Year's Day in Richard's villa, again dressed in my pink negligee, the red suspender belt, and white stockings, nothing else. And all day long I'm there for them, make them coffee and serve it with a curtsy, as it should have become normal for me by now, or almost normal. Under Ilona's supervision, I make a meal closer toward the evening, which Richard calls edible but not delicious. But he adds with a smile that I have other qualities that are more important than cooking.

      Around ten o'clock in the evening, I am allowed to put on my men's clothes over negligee and suspenders. That's it.

      Richard weighs his head in sorrow. "I don't think the secretary can get the stuff by the weekend. But I'm not here anyway. I won't be back until two weekends after." His eyes wander

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